


The Aftermath

by NeverQuiteLogistical



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Battle of Sodden Hill, F/M, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 03:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20988056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverQuiteLogistical/pseuds/NeverQuiteLogistical
Summary: After the traumatising Battle of Sodden Hill, Yennefer deals with the aftermath and someone meets her when she least expects it.





	The Aftermath

She didn’t remember much about the battle, aside from the fact that their enemies rained hell upon them. There were screams everywhere, bloodshed and the exploding bits of flesh flying around just like the projectiles fired from the siege machines. Hills and mountains were leveled in that heated exchange of spells, cannonballs and the endless stampede of soldiers – Nilfgaardians and those on their side.

She remembered hearing screams of her fellow colleagues. Sorceresses and wizards who served different sovereigns but stood together upon the Hill against a common enemy. The Chapter had never been more united in a battle for survival, a battle against the cruel conquest that none except the Nilfgaardians knew the true purpose of. 

She remembered Vilgefortz, the most revered and most talented wizard among them, yelling at the 22 of them to prepare themselves. They summoned barriers and fired spells after spells at the charging cavalry, leading their own at the same time into the fray, to the glory and honour they seek and also, unknowingly, their impending doom.

She remembered it began with an explosion, someone screamed. Blood rained. Madness ensued. Another explosion of unnatural blue fire, then a familiar voice, shouting and howling like a beast. That voice, she recognized, belonging to her best friend. Her dear friend who shouldn’t have had a part in this war.

She yelled her name. Rushed to her, even, her fingers still fiery with sparks of lightning bolts, sizzling with an adrenaline rush she had never felt before. _So this was how he felt_, she thought to herself, how it all felt when he walked hand in hand with Death, every step an unknown distance closer to the end of your life, every move an opportunity to the gates of afterlife. She felt it all, the blood rushing in her veins, the roar of the massacre and the unnatural buzz of battle- lust in her ears.

She rushed to her, yelling her name repeatedly. She saw her, bits of that iconic chestnut hair that she adored. The howls had deadened to a low, excruciating groan. She was dying, and she knew she must hurry.

Then an enemy stood in her way. Black of hair, cropped short beneath the ear. Their eyes met and they knew, at that instance, that one of them must fall, for the other to make it till the end of the war.

And so she sneered, threw her hands forward, bringing down a hail of destructive spells in her enemy’s way. The Nilfgaardian sorceress blocked effectively, returning the favour, shooting a ball of fire in her way. It rained fire and blood around them, but at that moment, it felt as though there were them and only them on the battlefield.

She was about to send forth another bout of lightning bolts in her way. Mercy was not an option in this war.

An explosion happened too closely behind her, throwing her off balance and leaving her out in the open. Her enemy saw her chance, and chanted a spell.

She saw it. But it was too late.

She brought up her hands as her last means of defence. The spell struck her, and a huge white flash was all she could see for that period of time. Her ears rung, and behind her head a hammer struck on an anvil incessantly. She stumbled in her steps, arm still shielding her eyes as she tried to get rid of the blinding flash, but to no avail.

The flash didn’t alleviate for a very long time. Her ears cleared. The screams and explosions did not end.

She heard the sorceress’ battle cry. She heard her coming.

“Yennefer!”

Her enemy hissed as the sound of a sizzling spark sounded near her, but it wasn’t directed at her. She recognised the voice. Philippa.

“Yennefer!” she called again. Yennefer’s eyes remained shut, and she turned around blindly as the madness ensued in the surrounding. She wanted to open her eyes, to know what was their current situation, but every time she attempted to open them a fresh stab of pain made her howl. Two firm hands gripped her wrists. Terrified, she prepared to summon another spell to lay waste to whoever that touched her.

“Yennefer, get ahold of yourself!” Phillippa growled. “We have to get away from here, quickly, follow me!”

She wanted to tell her she couldn’t. She was rooted to the ground, frozen and unable to move her feet. Philippa removed her hands and urged her to follow close behind her. Yennefer moved her fingers to her cheeks.

And found something wet staining her face. She could smell it. The coppery smell of blood. A feeling of dread overwhelmed her then. _Oh no…_

“_What are you doing?!” _Philippa screamed.

“I can’t…” she couldn’t hide the fear in her voice. “Philippa, where – ”

Warm hands cupped her cheeks. Philippa did not speak nor ask – no words were needed after all.

“Those bastards,” Philippa grunted. “We’ll make them pay, I promise. But for now we have to retreat and regroup,”

Philippa held her wrist firmly, guiding her along. An avalanche of destruction poured down on them, and Philippa tried her best to counter each and every spell. Occasionally she would ask Yennefer to duck or watch out for flank, and Yennefer would answer by quickly summoning a minor shield or a counteracting spell.

She’s no novice. Without sight, she can still use her spells.

She would worry about the consequences later. For now there was a deadly battle to survive.

* * *

The bandage wrapped around her eyes were too tight. Wincing in discomfort she reached a trembling hand to the bandage, only to have it slapped away.

“I said _don’t touch it_,” Tissaia hissed. “Do you know how tedious it is to prepare the poultice for your wounds? Your cornea is completely damaged, and your retina has lost all its functions. Don’t even get me started on what’s going on inside your eyeballs,”

“It itches terribly. You could have given me something more cooling,”

“Consider yourself fortunate that you only lost your sight, Yennefer,” she could hear a clatter of instruments and water rushing as Tissaia cleaned her hands. “I walked around the camp and I was surprised to know we won. From what I saw it seemed more like a meaningless victory,”

Yennefer did not answer. She had remained on the hill with the rearguard after Philippa guided her back to the camp, to help with the wounded. But losing her sight meant there was nothing much she could do, so she merely helped the other mages who were busy reinforcing the barrier. On other occasions she would have brutally murdered commoners who shouted instructions at her, but being blind meant guidance is compulsory.

“The Chapter has gone completely silent after the battle,” Tissaia said, her stern voice hiding a bit of melancholy. “We lost too many mages. It will be hard to replace them. But we will all recover,”

“How many?”

She did not answer for a while. “Fourteen,”

“Make it fifteen,”

Yennefer did not need to see to know that Tissaia was frowning.

“How would you know –”

“Fifteen will need to be replaced,” she knows Tissaia hated to be interrupted, but she couldn’t care less. “What do you think a blind sorceress can do? Casting spells perhaps. But that meant research and the rest are no longer an option,”

“You are still a court sorceress, Yennefer,”

“Demavend is a proud fool. He would see my blindness a liability and remove me from my position. Perhaps it’s for the better then. Finally I’ll run away to the corners of the world and set up an apothecary shop. Who knows, maybe you’ll visit with Philippa and goad while you can, Tissaia,”

“No one will goad you, Yennefer. You’re acting like a child,”

The sorceress, blinded and defeated, remained silent. Tissaia had not raised her voice, not even slightly when admonishing her, yet Yennefer felt intimidated nonetheless. But she made her point clear – she felt about as useful as a blunt sword in a battlefield.

“You merely lost your vision,” Yennefer felt a warm sensation upon her forehead, and gasped as she understood what Tissaia was trying to do. A projection was conjured in her mind – an image of black and white, but precisely outlined as her other senses perceived. She could tell that Tissaia was in front of her, and had gone back to pacing back and forth in the room, though she could hardly make out her face.

“There are other spells that may assist you. You need not worry,”

“Demavend will not be convinced. The Chapter will see me as disposable,”

The older sorceress stopped pacing. Yennefer shivered, feeling the intensity of her gaze burning through her. “You’re not telling me something, Yennefer. What’s the reason behind your lament?”

She sighed. “You read my mind, you already know the answer,”

Tissaia chuckled.

“If blindness bothers you so much, find a way to regain your vision,”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. I never knew you can still be sarcastic at this age,”

She, however, did not laugh. “I’m serious, Yennefer,”

“If there is truly a way, you would have done it, Tissaia. If you can’t do it, then forget it. You think too highly of me,”

“Enough with the self-deprecating humour, Yennefer,” she snapped. “You are a mage, so act like one. If you want something, don’t dream of it. Go get it. What I’m saying is there is a way, and it depends on whether you want it or not.

“I understand that you’re angry, and in pain. I understand sarcasm is how you cope with tragedy, Yennefer. But for once, understand that there are others who are willing to help you as long as you ask,”

_Willing to help? _Deep in her mind, she snorted. _Philippa only cares about herself. Rita has too much to handle at the moment, I’d rather not bother her. And Triss…_

Her whole body went numb. She remembered it. The chaos. The blood. The stench of burning human flesh. A scream that sounded like her.

“Triss…” she whispered. “Tissaia, where is Triss? Did you see her in the camp?”

Her question was met with silence. Impatient, Yennefer dove deep into Tissaia’s mind without caring about the consequences. She knew what the answers were, considering how Tissaia did not bother to repel her force back as the younger sorceress read her mind.

“No. _No._ It can’t be. I refuse to believe it,”

“We couldn’t recover her body,” Tissaia whispered. “If she’s still alive, she would have done something, sent a signal to alert us of her whereabouts. There were bodies burnt beyond recognition…”

“No one has found her body, she could still be _alive_!”

“I’ll leave you for now, Yennefer,” she heard the rustle of the tent flap. “Someone’s here to see you,”

She heard the heavy footsteps. A familiar stench of rotting corpses and death. The clink of metal buckles against metal armour. The visitor did not step any further, and she could feel those eyes on her.

Despite all the pain and emotional trauma, Yennefer smiled.

* * *

“How did you even manage to cross the border? From what I heard, the land is full of monsters, preying on the dead,”

“Have you forgotten?” she heard the slosh of liquid as a glass was being filled. “I’m a witcher. I kill monsters,”

The glass was pushed into her hands. Nodding her thanks, she took a quick sip and hummed in delight. Apple juice.

“It’s still not safe. Both sides of the war are now anxious. The Northern Kingdoms have won, but our losses are too much. Those who are alive have turned and are robbing anyone on the road…”

“Yen, I’m _fine,_” Geralt stressed. “And so are you. You’re safe. The war is over, for now,”

She felt his warm hand enveloping hers, and taking solace in his warmth she curled her fingers over his. No words could describe how she felt at the moment, for inside her was a raging maelstrom of emotions – helplessness over her blindness, sadness over her friend’s demise, anger at Tissaia and relief to have the witcher with her at the moment.

When the silence was far too much to bear, Yennefer asked, “Geralt, when will you be leaving?”

It only took him half a second to answer. “When you want me to,”

Just as he said it, she felt a surge of overwhelming emotions, and she had trouble expressing them all at once, and so she chose to express none at all. Her shaking fingers were held by his steady hand. Unbeknownst to her, she had leaned forward until her cool forehead touched the biting chill of his metallic pauldrons, the bandages around her eyes shifting slightly as they pressed against his armour.

“Yen, where will you go now?”

The question he asked. So simple. Yet she had no answers. Go home? Return to Demavend? Stay?

_If you want something, don’t dream of it. _

It was always easier said than done.

“Well, I can’t go back to Demavend in this state…” Yennefer said, her voice muffled slightly.

“Then _don’t_,”

“And there isn’t much I can do here, either. I can’t help with the wounded, healing is never my field of expertise,”

“We can always go south. The Skellige Isles, Crach would be delighted to see us, yes? That place is rife with monsters, and I’m sure they would need a witcher, once in a while,”

Her smile was grim and full of pain. “And what would I do there? What can a blind woman do there?”

Geralt did not answer. She lifted her face from his shoulder, and blindly reached out her fingers to his face. Gently, she prodded his taut skin, tracing the contours of his cheekbones and running her fingers through his shaggy beard. He had not shaven for a very long time, and judging by how rough his cheeks were, he had been in the dry climate for far too long. Soon her thumbs traced gently under his eyes, feeling the saggy skin there, imagining the dark circles under his sallow eyes, and she wondered when was the last he ever slept.

She did not bother with telepathy. “You had a rough time on the Path, didn’t you?”

His hand took hers, rubbing a thumb over the small cuts and bruises on her hand. “No. Not because of that,”

“Then why did you come here? And why do you behave like you don’t want me to go back into the living?”

“Because that would mean you have to fight the Nilfgaardians again. The war…” he admitted. “It’s not ending. It’s only getting worse, and the Chapter will only be caught in the middle of it,”

Anger flared within her, and her hand around his cheek tightened unpleasantly. “Be honest, Geralt. Do not force me to peer into that head of yours. Where were you before you came here? How did you find me?”

Silence followed after that. Guilt overwhelmed her in that instance, and she thought perhaps she should not force him for his reluctance had spoken what was on his mind. But she must know. Not out of curiosity, but what motivated him to dare step foot in a camp where mages and commoners alike scoff at the sight of him.

“I was…” he broke the uncomfortable silence with a hesitation. “Everywhere they spoke of the battle. The _battle on the hill._ I heard about the casualties that both sides suffered, and an obelisk was raised in the honour of the fallen,”

For a man of his immense strength there was little of it in his voice. She could probably guess what he did next, and she chose to hear him say it nonetheless.

“I had to see. I had to see if your name was engraved on it. I was relieved, but I have to see for myself. So I rode day and night, and I came here,”

She did not say anything, for no words could possibly express the emotions she felt at that moment. Yennefer gingerly held up her hands, her fingers trembling whether in fatigue or fear, neither of them knew. Geralt’s rough hands enveloped hers, kissing each tips lightly, gently.

“Wherever you go,” she begged silently, her voice quivering but she did her best to hold back the tears by shutting them tight. “Will you take me with you?”

Perhaps it was her grief over her losses that compelled her to make such a rash decision, perhaps she was tired of all the war and bloodshed and effort to maintain her status in court, but Yennefer merely wanted respite in spite of throwing everything away – all except the one she was dearest to.

“Yes,” Geralt agreed. “I won’t ever leave you again,”

_Don’t make promises you can’t keep,_ the words were stuck at her throat, for at that moment she was overcome with joy. She knew it would be hopeless, but she will hang onto every little bit of joy her witcher had to offer.


End file.
